


the prince of timbuktu

by allapplesfall



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Dialogue Heavy, Gen, Light Angst, Mild Hurt/Comfort, but like don't!! just ignore canon like a champ, but this is just cute late night sibs ok, its like mostly fluffy in content!!!!, maybe angstier if u read it in a wider context, zari is a good fucking sister in every timeline ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:21:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23818369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allapplesfall/pseuds/allapplesfall
Summary: “Z,” says a voice. “Z, are you awake?”“No,” she moans, flapping a hand. “Go away. Gidget, banish him.”or:Behrad has a nightmare and Zari tells him an old bedtime story.
Relationships: Behrad Tomaz | Behrad Tarazi & Zari Tomaz | Zari Tarazi
Comments: 7
Kudos: 53





	the prince of timbuktu

**Author's Note:**

> listen. im ignoring 5x09. if u read this ALSO ignoring 5x09, u will be happier than otherwise

“Z,” says a voice. “Z, are you awake?”

“No,” she moans, flapping a hand. “Go away. Gidget, banish him.”

“I’m afraid that’s beyond my abilities, Ms. Tarazi,” sniffs the robot lady.

Stupid robot lady.

“If I get up right now, I’m going to have the worst bags tomorrow.” She rolls over, towards the intruder. “People think you can disguise that with concealer and color canceler, but you can’t. You just end up puffy and cakey.”

“Please, Zari.”

_That_ wakes her up. She pulls off her sleep mask with one hand and leverages herself into a sitting position with the other. Behrad stands a few feet from her bed. Face drawn and pale, he shifts from foot to foot. His eyes hold hers for a moment before he looks down.

“Hey,” she says. “What’s wrong?”

In that same sheepish tone, he says, “I can’t sleep.”

She softens. She pats the bed beside her. “Bia inja, Behrad-joon.”

Obediently, he clambers on. He moves so they sit shoulder to shoulder.

She looks up at him out of the corner of her eye. “Do you wanna… Like, you wanna talk about it?”

He tips his head back against the wall. Sweat darkens parts of his curls, and rings around his collar. He presses his eyes closed.

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to. I know when _I_ have an icky night, I–”

“No,” he says. “It’s cool. It’s just…being a Legend is great. I love doing this. Fixing time, saving the world, using the totem–”

“Pause, pause. Don’t get so high and mighty. I’ve heard some complaints about you.” She makes her eyes as wide as possible. “That gaudy bracelet of yours is really driving the blow bar business into the red.”

“Shut up.” His lips twitch and he knocks his shoulder against hers. “But, you know, I love doing this. Most of the time.”

He pauses. She waits.

“It’s just, we see stuff. Sometimes.” His eyes blink open, his face growing more serious.

Zari purses her lips.

“And it’s not…it’s not always fun stuff.”

“And this 'not always fun stuff' gives you, like, bad dreams?”

“Yep,” he says, popping the p. “All my friends dying, time loop edition. Booyah.” He does a lonely imitation of the last part of his dorky ass time bro handshake.

“B, that’s...”

“Yeah.” He sighs. “It’s fine.“

“It’s not.”

His brow creases.

“It’s not fine.” She thinks about the way their Babaie’s eyes would get, sometimes. All faded and glassy, like B’s now. “Trauma matters.”

He shrugs, picking at his flannel pants.

“Listen to me! I’m a four-time cybersupporter of Fina Martinez’s #MentalWealth summit. I _know_ what I'm talking about.” She taps his arm with each word to punctuate her point. "The way you feel matters."

A brief silence. Something small and suspiciously tearlike dribbles down his face.

"Thanks," he murmurs.

"Of course. You're my baby brother, stupid—there's no one I'd rather get eye bags for."

He swipes at his wet cheek with one hand. “Man, it’s _so_ weird having you around.”

“Hey! Rude.” Then, tentatively: “Good weird?”

He cracks a smile. “I mean, until the next time I have to use the bathroom.”

“OMG, _no_ respect for the glam in this family.” She shakes her head, smiling back. “Come on, jerk, lay down. Lay down, now. Yeah.”

He lets her guide him to a sprawled position, his head resting in her lap. “You gonna tell me a story, Zari-joon?”

“A story?”

He looks up at her. “You know the one.”

"Alright." She runs her fingers through his hair, forcibly ignoring the thought of what his gross brother sweat will do to her poor nail job. He relaxes at her touch. “The Prince of Timbuktu,” she begins. “Took a swim in the ocean blue.”

Behrad choruses: “He met a tortoise–”

“Hello, do you want me to tell you the story or not?”

He shrugs against her thigh. “I thought we could say it together.”

“Are we creepy toddler twins? No.”

“You’ve watched _The Shining_? How? Nate just showed me that last month.”

“The what? No, I’ve seen South East’s live CatChat kidcam.” She shivers. “Scarring.”

He grins.

“ _Anyway_ ,” she says. “The Prince of Timbuktu took a swim in the ocean blue.”

Behrad shifts, closing his eyes.

“He met a tortoise who told him his purpose was to be the King of Timbuktu. The Prince argued with the tortoise, said that could not be true…”

She keeps going. She remembers the words without thinking, after a decade of reading to him as a kid. As fame had filled more and more of her days, nights became the only thing two of them had had left. She’d learned to love the cadence, the pauses, the tension draining from his body. Her Shakespeare coaches called her a natural; B called her Most Improved.

Finally, she reaches: “And the tortoise said to the King: you may look after Timbuktu, it’s true—but I look after you.”

Self-satisfied, she smiles.

Behrad doesn’t react, except to let out a quiet snore. Zari’s worked her dramatic magic again: her brother’s fallen fast asleep.

She shifts his head off her lap, onto her back-up tempurpedic pillow. She scooches so she can lay down beside him. Slipping her sleep mask back on her head, resolving to press green tea bags beneath her eyes in the morning, she pulls the blanket up over them both.

For a minute, she listens to the rhythm of his breathing. No hitches, no stutters. Just the occasional snore.

“I may not be some big ugly turtle,” she murmurs. “But…. Well, you get it. Sweet dreams, B.”

**Author's Note:**

> does it make sense for b to have a time loop episode? no. but does the entirety of season 3 make sense with b instead of z? no so phil can eat my ass and let me have this


End file.
